Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 056

"Claudia!" Karen complained to me.

"Why don't you go ahead and play without her . . . Miss von Brewer?" "Okay. Ready, guys?" said Karen, to her band. "And a-one and a-two!" "Anatevka" rang across the yard, accompanied by exuberant drumming. When the song was over, Karen took charge again. "Not bad," she said. "Not bad." She frowned. "Well, not great." She eyed the group on the steps. "You know what we need?" she said.

Hannie and Nancy perked up. "What?" "Uniforms! I bet we would play better with band uniforms." I smiled. I thought of the movie The Music Man, about this traveling salesman guy who calls himself Professor Harold Hill (he's really a con artist) and breezes into this little town, River City, Iowa, and convinces the parents there that a band is just what their kids need. He gets everyone to buy these expensive instruments and fancy uniforms from him, so the band looks really terrific. But Professor Hill never bothers to tell anyone that he's not a musician, he can't play a note, and he can't teach the kids to play their instruments. It doesn't matter. The kids gain self-confidence from the way they look and everything, so in the end they can play after all (or something like that).

I could understand why Karen wanted uniforms for our band.

"Hey, yeah! Uniforms!" cried David Michael unexpectedly. (He is not generally a fan of Karen's ideas.) "That would be way cool, right, Linny?" "Yeah!" "Okay," said Karen. "Then I will take charge. Allow me." "You're in charge again?" cried Andrew.

"I have lots of ideas," said Karen haughtily. "Come on, Nancy. Come on, Hannie. I want you guys to help me." Karen and her friends disappeared into the house. While we waited for them, Linny said, gazing into space, "I think blue uniforms would be good. With stripes up each leg. And blue hats." "We'd look like policemen," protested David Michael.

"I think we should wear boots and spurs and chaps and ten-gallon hats and carry lassos," said Andrew.

"We want uniforms, not costumes," David Michael replied.

"Oh. Well, what do band uniforms look like?" The front door to the house burst open then. "They look like this?' cried Karen. She and Hannie and Nancy tiptoed between the boys and pranced onto the lawn.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

The girls were wearing long slips, clumpy high-heeled shoes, and feather boas. Plus, Karen was wearing a straw hat, Hannie was wearing a motorcycle helmet, and Nancy was wearing a bride's veil.

"Dress ups!" cried Emily Michelle. She dropped her pot and ran to Karen. "I dress up! I dress up!" David Michael, Linny, and Andrew stood on the steps, their mouths open. They couldn't speak. They could only stare.

"How do we look?" Karen asked me.

"You look . . . beautiful." "Yeah, to Frankenstein," said Linny, recovering the power of speech.

"Do you really think those are band uniforms?" David Michael managed to ask. "Andrew's idea was better than this. He wanted everyone to dress as cowboys." "What's wrong with these outfits?" asked Karen.

"You expect boys to wear slips and high heels?" answered Linny.

"No. I guess not. . . . But we couldn't find band uniforms," admitted Karen.

"Hey, I know!" exclaimed Nancy. "How about if all the band members just dress the same? We could wear, like, jeans and red shirts. I bet everyone has a pair of jeans and a red shirt." David Michael opened his mouth, then closed it. Apparently he could find nothing wrong with the idea.

"I have jeans!" exclaimed Andrew. "And a red sweat shirt." "I have jeans and a red blouse," said Hannie.

"I have jeans and a red T-shirt," said Nancy. "The T-shirt says 'My parents went to Hawaii and all they brought me was this dumb shirt.' " We laughed. And Linny added, "Hey, maybe we could have red T-shirts made that say ALL THE CHILDREN on them. Then we would really look alike." Even David Michael liked that idea.

"Well," I said, "I'll find out how much the shirts would cost. Maybe we could raise money to buy them." "Or we could ask for donations at our first band concert," said Karen.

"You guys had better be really good then," I said.

"Don't worry. We will. Come on, let's rehearse, everybody!" And the kids played "Anatevka" with new enthusiasm.

For awhile that afternoon I forgot about the Lowells.

Chapter 13.

"How are we doing?" I asked.

"One more stack," Jessi replied. "And it's a short one." "Did we get rid of the fliers with those misspelled words?" Kristy wanted to know.

"Yes," I answered testily. The misspelled words had been my fault, of course. The first few fliers I had lettered had said things like "the Newtons bake yerd," and "every one is welcomb!" and "WE NEED BAD UNIFORMS!" Then Kristy had leaned over my shoulder and realized what I was doing. She'd given me a new job: decorating each flier. So what if I can't spell? Drawing little instruments and designs on the fliers was much more fun than lettering them.

It was a Friday evening. I had invited my friends to stay after our meeting and eat a pizza supper. Now we were sprawled around my room, preparing for the first band concert. It was going to be held in a week. We needed time to distribute our fliers. We were hoping lots of people would be free on Saturday at 2:00. Our kids were looking forward to a big audience.

My friends and I planned to post the fliers the next day and to hand them out to our neighbors. But we wanted the kids to be involved with inviting guests, too, so at our next rehearsal we were going to hand each band member one invitation to give to someone special.

"Boy, I hope the kids are going to be ready for the concert," said Dawn.

"Oh, they will be," I assured her. "The ones who play the important instruments - not that the sticks and the oatmeal drums aren't important, but you know what I mean - the kids on the keyboard and the guitar and stuff have already learned the music. And the others follow along well. I think the concert is going to be great." "So what's our schedule this week?" asked Stacey.

"Short rehearsals on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday," I replied, "dress rehearsals - or whatever they're called - on Thursday and Friday, and the performance on Saturday." "I hope everyone can fit into the Newtons' yard," said Mary Anne.

"Oh, don't worry about that," I replied.

Mary Anne smiled. "What should I worry about?" "Oh, things like whether Jackie will knock over the keyboard while Shea and Marilyn are playing it - " "Or whether Claire will have a tantrum if she makes a mistake," said Mal.

"Or whether Karen will decide to perform in her bathing suit or something," said Kristy. "You know, she likes our band uniforms, and she especially likes the idea of getting T-shirts, but she still wants to perform in an outfit that's a little, oh, flashier." "Her bathing suit?" I said.

"Well, you know, for instance, in her bathing suit with a crown and high heels so she could be Miss Kazoo." "Oh, my lord. Miss Kazoo," I repeated, but I was giggling.

Six days later, on Thursday afternoon, not long after school had let out, the first dress rehearsal of All the Children got underway.

Everyone was nervous.

"Do you realize," began Stacey, edging closer to me, "that this time Saturday the concert will be over?" "I wonder if everybody will be in one piece," said Dawn, who had overheard.

"We can only hope," I replied.

"At least," said Kristy, "the kids remembered to bring their instruments and wear their uniforms. That's a good sign." She was right. It was a good sign. Then again, I thought I had once heard Janine say something like, "Good dress rehearsal, bad opening night." Maybe we didn't want the dress rehearsals to go too well after all. Not if that would jinx the concert.

I watched the kids enter the yard. Some filed in alone. Most arrived in pairs or in groups of three or four. All were wearing blue jeans with sneakers and red tops.